Chapter 8

 

Mac glared at Thierry when they walked in. In fact, the bar was full tonight, and two by two, all eyes fell on the young wolf.

But Dmitri didn’t have to nudge him forward. Thierry crossed to the brewer and held out his hand. “I’m sorry that I destroyed your door.”

Mac scowled at his hand for a moment before taking it.

“Dmitri said that you are waiting for hardware?”

Mac’s glance slid to Dmitri. “The hinges broke. It’s on temps ’til the right ones come in.”

“Will you tell me when they arrive? I will install them.”

“It’s fine.”

“It is the least I can do.”

“Are you any good?”

“I’m very good,” Thierry said with a hint of suggestiveness in his voice.

Mac’s frown deepened. “With tools,” he growled.

“I am,” Thierry nodded, serious again. “I do construction in the summers.”

Mac picked up a towel. “Okay. I’ll let you know. It won’t be ’til next week or the week after.” He looked at Dmitri again.

So did Thierry.

“He’ll be around,” Dmitri said.

For which Thierry beamed at him.

Shit, he was blushing again. He’d never blushed so much in his life as in the past two days.

“Good to meet you, I guess.”

Thierry smiled at Mac. “Very good to meet you. You’re a brewer?”

“Yeah, I do a bit.”

“Dmitri has told me. You have a stout?”

Mac’s eyebrows rose in what Dmitri had come to recognize as grudging respect. “I do.”

“I’ll take a stout.” He turned to Dmitri. “What would you like? My treat.”

Dmitri nodded to Mac. “Usual.”

Thierry watched Mac pour, eying Dmitri’s choice. “What’s your usual?”

“Red ale.”

“Red ale? Will you be figure-skating later?”

Mac chuckled, then caught himself and moved down the bar.

“Very funny.”

Thierry held up his pint glass and kept it there until Dmitri raised his and looked him in the eye.

“Santé.”

“Santé.” Thierry sipped around his smirk.

Dmitri watched the rise and fall of his throat as he swallowed. A thin line of the stout’s head limned his upper lip for a few seconds before he licked it away. Dmitri took a swig of his own beer.

“So what is to be done here?”

The question could have meant so many things, Dmitri hesitated.

“In Grizzly Rim,” Thierry specified. What he did to the R’s was almost obscene.

“Uh, you’re lookin’ at it.”

“Come to the tavern?” Thierry nodded. “All right. But in the wilderness? Don’t you explore it?”

“Sure.”

“As a human?”

“Well, not as much as I do as a wolf. But other people do.”

Voices sounded behind them, the Casey brothers calling out to Nate, who’d just come in from outside. Nate waved and turned toward the bar. His step hitched slightly when he caught sight of Thierry. He leveled a baleful eye at him as he rounded the bar, grabbed a glass, and poured himself a water.

“D.”

“Nate.”

The otter came back around the bar. As he walked past Thierry, he muttered, “Stranger Danger.”

Thierry’s attention snapped to Nate. His dark-roast eyes narrowed, assessing.

Nate settled on Dmitri’s other side, wisely putting a body between himself and Marrou, who topped him by a head and a couple dozen pounds.

But Thierry wasn’t one to back down. He shoved his hand out to Nate behind Dmitri’s back. “Thierry Marrou.”

Nate gave it a flat look but offered his own. “Nate Landry.”

Thierry’s hand swept lightly over Dmitri’s sweater, back to his stout. “Water only?”

“Yup,” Nate said.

Dmitri felt as though he were trapped between two porcupines. He turned to Thierry. “So you were asking about the wilderness. Nate’s a guide. He specializes in the rivers around here.”

“Yes? Fishing and such?”

Nate conceded. “Fishing. Rafting. Kayaking.”

“It’s a big part of the tourist trade in warmer months,” Dmitri added.

“And now, ice fishing?”

“Sure.”

“I like ice fishing.” Thierry slid a sly glance to Dmitri. “I like the little huts. Very cozy.”

Beside him, Nate snorted softly. “So what do you do, Marrouuuu?” He drew it out into a soft howl.

Which scraped right up the younger wolf’s spine. His hand tightened on his pint glass. “I play hockey.”

“Right, I’ve seen your work. How’s that eye, D?”

Dmitri shot Nate a warning look. “It’s fine.”

“I don’t remember seeing you on the ice, Nathan.” Thierry blinked, the picture of innocence. “You don’t play?”

Right, because a real man at a hockey game was on the ice, not sitting on his ass in the stands. Of all the pissing contests he could have gotten wedged in.

The otter had to give a bit of ground in this case. “I was there, as a spectator. I don’t play.”

“I’ve never met a man who doesn’t play hockey.”

Christ.

Nate shrugged. “No snow, no hockey.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m from Louisiana. No snow.”

“Louisiana?” Thierry gave Nate a speculative look. “Tu parles français?”

“Oui, bien sûr. C’est la langue de mes grands-parents.”

Dmitri turned to stare at him.

“I’m Cajun, D. You didn’t know that?” And he winked.

“No, I didn’t. You don’t usually have an accent.”

“Welp. C’est vrai.” His pronunciation had a drawl to it now, the lazy vowels meandering like a trickle of molasses.

“So… D.”

Uh-oh. He turned to find Thierry looking at him closely.

“How long have you two known each other?”

Dmitri and Nate both started making ums and uhs, though Dmitri got the distinct impression that Nate was playing at his. “Five years?” Dmitri ventured. “You moved here around then.”

“Seems about right.”

Thierry was quiet for a moment. When Dmitri looked over at him, his eyes flicked from Dmitri to Nate, and back.

“No,” Dmitri said.

“No what?” Nate asked.

“Nothing,” Dmitri said.

Thierry leaned forward, a smug set to his jaw. “I merely asked him if he had slept with you.”

Dmitri expected an outraged response on Nate’s part. What he got was even worse.

A mischievous chuckle. “Not me,” Nate said, with enough emphasis to make Thierry’s ears perk up.

He gave Dmitri a very inquisitive look. “Oh?”

Shit. Dmitri took a drink. Turned toward Nate and coughed, “Cut it out.”

The chuckle again. “Smooth.”

When he turned back, Thierry’s coffee gaze was burning a hole in the side of Dmitri’s head. Then it began to roam around the bar.

This was not good. He hunched over his ale. Nate elbowed him, something he almost never did. Dmitri turned and snarled at him. “Fucker.”

“Dreamboat,” Nate whispered.

Damn it, now he had to kill Mac, too.

“Him.”

The syllable demanded Dmitri turn back to Thierry. “What?”

Thierry nodded toward a corner booth. “That guy in the orange shirt,” he said, his voice pitched low. “Have you fucked him?”

“I’m not discussing this.”

“Oh. Is it a secret?” Thierry got a dangerous glint in his eye. “A capital-S secret, as in Ja—”

“No,” Dmitri said quickly. “I haven’t.” It was Warren. Of course, sitting across from him was his brother Elliott. “You want another stout?”

“And the man with him?”

A low whistle sounded from behind him. Nate was a dead man.

“Yes.”

Thierry’s eyebrows rose, his expression solicitous. “Excuse me?”

“Yes. I have.”

Thierry sat up and studied Elliott, his lips pursed. “Hm.” Then his gaze shifted sideways. “And him?”

“Which one?”

“Which one?”

Nate snorted.

Thierry shot him a glare, then narrowed his eyes at Dmitri. “Blue hat.”

Dave, a local mechanic. “Yes.”

Thierry stared at him, then shook his head as if to clear it. “Him?”

Tim, the radio operator. “No.”

“Him. Plaid jacket.”

It was like a parade of all his transgressions. “Yes.”

“Mon dieu,” Thierry breathed. “You are such a whore.”

“Mac!”

They both jumped at Nate’s shout.

“Mac! Mac!”

The brewer stepped out of the kitchen, looking around the bar in alarm. “What?”

“Pop some popcorn!” Nate settled on an elbow and gave Dmitri a look of dopey delight. “Marrou’s learning about Dmitri’s past!”

Mac frowned, sized up the expression on Dmitri’s face—pure pleading—and waved Nate over. “Come here.”

“No way, dude.”

Thierry elbowed Dmitri. “Should I ask about the women too?”

“Should he?” Nate asked, genuinely interested.

“Nate,” Mac said again.

“No,” Dmitri said, glaring at his bookends.

“That’s a relief,” Thierry said. “Ah, mon loup, don’t scowl so. I happen to have a soft spot for whores. My mother is one.”

“Oh shit!” Nate exclaimed.

“Landry,” Mac barked.

“What?”

“Get. Over. Here.”

“Why?”

“I need your help.”

“You never need my help.” But Nate was already standing. “Okay.” He rounded the bar and disappeared into the back.

When Dmitri risked his next glance at Thierry, the younger man was watching him closely. He looked dead serious.

“No.” When Thierry continued to stare at him, he reached out and squeezed the man’s wrist. “I told you, no.”

Thierry relaxed visibly and took a long drink of his stout. “Good. I would have to be jealous about that.”

“Jealous? Of Nate?”

“He is very cute,” Thierry muttered. “Annoying but cute.” Then his demeanor changed, and he shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter. His heart is spoken for.”

“Nate’s?”

Thierry looked at him with disbelief. “For a writer you aren’t very observant.”

“I am too. Wait.” He hesitated but had to ask. “What did you mean when you said your mother is a whore?”

“Well, perhaps whore is a strong word. She is an escort.” He waved a matter-of-fact hand. “It is her profession.”

“Oh.” Dmitri had another question but couldn’t bring himself to ask it. He took a drink.

“You are wondering if my father was one of her customers.”

Was he that transparent?

“He was not. They were very much in love, she tells me.”

“Was she a wolf before him?”

“Oui, that’s how they met.” He gave Dmitri a little smile. “He tried to steal a deer she had killed.”

“Let me guess: that didn’t go well for him.”

Thierry’s smile was wry. “She is fierce. He submitted, and she ate it in front of him.”

“The whole thing?”

“Of course. It was hers. But she let him lick the blood from her snout.”

“Romantic.”

Thierry laughed and traced a finger over the bar’s wood grain. “He was charmed. And extremely turned on. They made me that night.”

Dmitri definitely didn’t know that much about his own parents. He’d been born two years after they married but had never even considered asking about the gap.

“He was killed before I was born.”

“How?”

He immediately regretted asking, but Thierry only shook his head. “A hunter shot him. And then he was very surprised to find a bleeding man where he expected to retrieve a wolf.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I never knew him. Maman tells me I look like him. And that I have all his very worst qualities.” He gave Dmitri a brilliant smile.

Dmitri smiled back. He could feel his neighbors’ eyes on them, and he didn’t care. This improbably gorgeous creature next to him was coming home with him. He was beginning to feel fairly dopey himself.

“Wait, so who is Nate in love with?”

Thierry made a disgusted noise and rolled his eyes. “You are hopeless.”

“I’m serious.”

“Forget it, Sernov. Besides, even Nate doesn’t know it yet.”

“What?”

Thierry stood abruptly. “I feel like a run. What do you say?”

He stood to follow, but the younger man waved a subtle hand for him to lead. Nodding to the other patrons as they left, he resolved to thank him later for that.

 

They barely made it out of his truck before they were stripping, dropping their clothes carelessly onto the snow, and then they were running.

The moon hung fuller tonight, throwing a strong silver light through the branches of the forest. They ran full-out for a long time before slowing. Thierry seemed curious, so Dmitri showed him around. They had explored the first night, but this was more deliberate, a more thoughtful tour on Dmitri’s part, showing Thierry the near territory he ranged. They stopped at a stream to drink, having followed the burble of it. Finding the surface frozen, the water and air bubbles forming oily art underneath, Thierry pushed a paw through the ice, clearing a hole, and then stepped back so Dmitri could drink. Only after he had taken his fill did Thierry step forward to lap at the chilly water. Dmitri watched him, watched the curl of his tongue as it scooped the water. When Thierry raised his head again, his tongue lolled, dripping. He was grinning.

Race you.

Go.

It was a head-long and reckless crash through the forest, bounding over logs and through brush. Thierry was in front, no surprise, leading the chase, and Dmitri pushed to catch him. He did, a few times, nipping at the other wolf’s tail. Each time, Thierry would turn sharply to one side or the other, leaving Dmitri to skid gracelessly until he could scramble after him. But he didn’t care. Didn’t care that he was out of shape, didn’t care about grace or finesse or stamina. Thierry would run him, hard, but he would also find a way to let himself be caught. For all that he had hunted Dmitri, Thierry liked to be pursued. Even if he had to tease Dmitri into giving chase.

He caught him finally when they tumbled over a low rise. Thierry seemed to hesitate, trying to decide which direction to take, and Dmitri pounced on him. They rolled, throwing snow all around them. It filled Dmitri’s eyes and ears, but all he sensed was Thierry. They came to rest, Dmitri pinning him, Thierry’s throat in his jaws, held there lightly. The younger wolf’s ribcage heaved under him.

Tu es magnifique.

Dmitri raised his head.

Thierry threw his own back into the snow, huffing at it, then gave Dmitri a playful sidewise look. You caught me.

You let me.

Thierry nipped at Dmitri’s jaw. I did not.

You did.

You are mistaken. That happens when…

The thought trailed away. Dmitri growled softly. When what? When one gets old?

That’s not what I would have said.

You know what else happens when you get older?

What?

You get better. At everything.

Thierry’s breath was coming in quick puffs that rose into the still air around them. Everything?

Everything. And Dmitri bounded away.

Thierry yelped behind him, but Dmitri only ran, grinning like the wild dog he was. He tested the air again, and yes, there it was. He arced to the right, following the scent. When he was a few yards away, the rabbit sprang from its cover, sending a glittering spray of snow into the night.

Circle.

Oui.

They chased it, their trails in the snow flanking the rabbit, herding it into a tight circle. Dmitri leapt onto it, missing his mark as the creature scrabbled away, but he got it on a second jump. With a quick, forceful squeeze of his jaws, he cracked its neck.

Thierry approached but then sat in the snow several feet away.

No. Come here.

It’s yours. You scented it.

Come here.

Obediently, the other wolf rose and padded over.

Share with me.

They shared the meat and organs, warm and slick, and then the bones, crunching them into pieces to get to the marrow inside. When nothing was left but fur and feet, they sat back and looked at each other.

Thierry’s snout was dark, wet with blood and viscera. Dmitri licked his own face, tasting the same. Then Thierry rose and crossed to him. His tongue flashed out, swiping across Dmitri’s lip, catching it, scraping lightly across his gum. He nuzzled Dmitri’s ear, then his chest, and then sat back. Lifting his nose into the air, he howled.

Dmitri joined him.

The moon hung overhead, listening, and then lured them back to the cabin.

When they got there, they left their clothes lying in the snow.